Madremanya Sunday
SUNDAY 26th JUNE Posted 3 weeks later, on my 65th birthday
Madremanya
Finally got out of bed at 09:20 with metaphysical hangover. All is lost. There is no hope. We are doomed. Von is either dead or in the deepest migraine of her life. Cup of horrid tea improves matters very slightly. Faint signs of life from Y. Pretty poor cup of coffee (must be the water; it doesn’t taste great here) improves matters a little more. Toast and apricot jam aid still further. Finally feel brave enough to try and fix Milo’s sun shade in the car and then to venture up to the pool, where we Have To Try Be Nice to Lucy, Philip and sweet little Moya, who have just moved into the next door shack, so we are no longer alone. Throwing up in the pool might be discouraged.
Shaunagh doing her Mamma Mia! number
We slope back to the shack and set off to Shaunagh’s Hangover Brunch. I am not allowed to wear my swimming shorts, so I put on my specially hot cream trousers. We stop at the Super in Bisbal to get hooch, eggs, dog food etc. Temperature in Super car park: 104°F. Arrived after everyone else. All the paella had been eaten. About the same number of people as there were last night, perhaps a few less, a mere 70 or 80 for lunch.
The house from the pool
Meet Hugh and Claire. Claire’s father died yesterday (aged 94), so instead of spending a long weekend as planned they flew out this morning and are flying back tonight. They are renting Torre Ronsat in 2 week’s time, filling it with 17 people. We sit under the shade of the pergola by the pool with Hugh, Claire, Nicola and David from the Palaces. Soon the disco man arrives and sets up a monster groove. I can no longer hear what people are saying, so I relapse into rosada.
Milo is dubious about the delights of the pool
Milo makes friends with everyone, as usual, except Lola, Crispin & Shaunagh’s rescue dog. It is so hot, and the pool is filled with youngsters. The self-important man from last night goes round the pool tickling the toes of the sunbathing beauties. They don’t know him or who he is. That is serious dirty old man territory — even I can see that’s inappropriate behaviour. What a prat.
I need a dip badly, so we make our farewells. S & C are off on Tuesday to spend 10 weeks sailing round the Greek islands. It sounds glorious in theory but about 9 weeks too long for me. I mentioned this and a shadow briefly flitted over Shaunagh’s face. I wonder how she feels about it?
As we leave, Lola changes her mind about Milo (a woman’s prerogative), suddenly decides that he is the only dog she has ever loved and off they set on a joyous, noisy romp for ten minutes through the olive groves. How he can have such energy in this sapping heat amazes me. They run in tighter and tighter circles, Milo barking happily. He has never yet met a dog that can’t run faster than him, but he adores chasing. They finally collapse in the shade together but sadly we have to separate them and Lola watches her beau bumping away across a dusty field in the back of a car.
Get back to the shack in the boiling car, almost jog to the pool and dive straight in. No messing about. Gloriously cool. Then a big zizz in the shade. Peace. Magret again for supper. Who’s complaining?
